Sleepers

It took King Be

'He's go

'Why's that?'

'He don't want nobody to know the kind of guy he is,' King Be

'He knows this?'

'He will,' King Be

'That it?' I said.

'The boys he buys for parties are expensive,' King Be

'What's he owe?'

'Eight grand,' King Be

'To who?'

'Three small-timers downtown,' King Be

'What happened this morning?'

'They were paid off,' King Be

'Who paid 'em?'

'Henry Addison's chits belong to me now,' King Be

'You hate debts,' I said.

'I hate Henry Addison,' King Be

We stopped at the corner of 52nd Street and 12th Avenue. I looked over at King Be

His black sedan was across the street, one of his men behind the wheel, the windows up, the engine ru

'I am,' he said. 'You're going home. To sleep, in case anybody ever asks.'

'Where are you going?'

'Pick up my money,' King Be

'Take me with you,' I said. 'I want to be in on this.'

'Go home,' King Be

King Be

'You're a good kid,' King Be

The living room was dark, the only light coming from two bare windows and the glimmer of a floor lamp. All the furniture was new, two black leather couches taking up one end, a white shag pull-out sofa shoved against the opposite wall. In the center of the room was a long butcher-block table surrounded by four black leather chairs on rollers. There was a framed wall poster of Dr. J hanging on one wall and a cardboard cutout of Earl 'The Pearl' Monroe leaning against a door that led to the small kitchen. The room smelled of fresh paint and incense.

A tall, reed-thin black man sat in one of the black leather chairs, his feet flat on the floor, his hands folded and resting on the butcher-block table. He was wearing a black turtleneck and black leather slacks. He had a Rolex on his left wrist and a diamond pinky ring on his right hand. He wore black Gucci loafers and no socks.

His mother named him Edward Goldenberg Robinson, after her favorite actor. To continue the Hollywood co

Eddie Robinson was thirty-six years old and had already fathered six kids with three different women. His oldest child, a son, was twelve years old and attended a private school in upstate New York, where he lived with his mother. Little Caesar named his son Rizzo after his youngest brother, who died while in the custody of the Wilkinson Home for Boys.

'You alone?' Eddie Robinson asked King Be

'Got a guy downstairs,' King Be

Eddie Robinson smiled and turned toward a thick-muscled black man in a sweatsuit standing in a corner by the window.

'Bip can't talk,' Eddie Robinson said.

'Smart move,' King Be

'I'm not looking for partners,' Eddie said, thick mustache highlighting his thin face. 'If that's your reason for the meet.'

'I don't want a partner,' King Be

'Then what?' Eddie Robinson said.

'I want you to give me some money,' King Be

'How much money?'

'Eight thousand dollars,' King Be

'I'll play along,' Eddie Robinson said with a smile. 'Say I give you the eight grand. How long before you pay it back?'

'I'm not paying it back,' King Be

'This somebody somebody I know?' Eddie Robinson said, taking the paper from King Be

'Your little brother knew him,' King Be

'Rizzo?' Eddie Robinson asked, a sudden deadness to his voice. 'How did he know Rizzo?'

'The man was a guard at an upstate home,' King Be

'Bip,' Eddie Robinson said, not moving his eyes from King Be

King Be

'You go back a long time, old man,' Eddie Robinson said as he passed it on to King Be

'Old men always do,' King Be

'Ran with the guineas back when the guineas were tough,' Eddie Robinson said.

'Ran when I could run,' King Be

'Maybe you and me can do some business,' Eddie Robinson said. 'Close us a deal.'

'We just did,' King Be

'I'll look up our friend soon,' Eddie Robinson said as King Be

'He owes you somethin' more than money,' King Be

Eddie Robinson stood up from his chair, hands spread out before him. 'Ain't nothin' worth more than the green.'

'This is,' King Be

'What, old man?' Eddie Robinson said. 'What's this guy owe means more to me than dollars?'

'He owes you Rizzo,' King Be

King Be